The Crystal City Under the Sea (21 page)

Charicles’s voice here became so feeble that they could hardly hear what he said. It was apparently a short swoon. Then, recovering, he resumed, with an effort:

“I must show you the way out.”

But here, his words were altogether inaudible, his face became fixed, and he was once more completely powerless. Atlantis, leaning over him in anguish, laid her hand on his heart. René held a glass to his pale lips.

“He still breathes,” said he, joyfully. “Look at this film. Hope! let us hope! I am expecting my friend’s help. He must soon be here, now.”

CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIRST RING AT THE DOOR.

A
TLANTIS and René, standing beside Charicles’s couch, found that they were powerless to rouse him from the state of syncope into which he had relapsed, But, at least, they had the consolation of knowing that he still lived, and then they had so much to think about and to hope for, that they could not be altogether unhappy. Moreover, had not Charicles, with his dislike of extravagant expressions of joy or sorrow, so fatal to harmony and beauty, exhorted them to calmness and courage? Had he not expressed a desire that peace and serenity should reign round his dying bed? They watched, therefore, by turns, taking time occasionally for food and rest, sometimes resuming the conversation which was uniting them more and more closely, and sometimes relapsing into that unconstrained silence, only possible to those who are in perfect sympathy with each other.

By this time, a week had elapsed since Kermadec’s departure to the upper regions. René had counted the hours till his return. He had no doubts as to Kermadec and Patrice; his knowledge of the blind obedience on the part of the former, and the absolute devotion on the part of the latter, told him that they would be there at the first possible moment if nothing came in the way. And that possibility never entered into his calculations. He was before all things an optimist; he possessed the happy disposition which, believing all miracles possible, assumes the fulfilment of them. The tone of perfect confidence which pervaded his appeal to Stephen had acted powerfully in forming his resolution to comply with it, and no doubt it had a strong influence on Madame Caoudal and Hélène.

The hours slipped along; and, at length, they heard the bell ring! Atlantis remained by her father’s side, and, with a rapid stride, René went towards the entrance to the air-lock. What was his joy when, through the thick, dark liquid mass of water, a momentary flash of electric light showed him his Titania! Black, dumpy, compact, it had none of the lines which go to form the grace and beauty of the ordinary boat. All its beauty was in its internal arrangements. But how welcome it was m spite of that. With a beating heart René turned the crank which opened the sluices. The gate half opened, and the water penetrated without a rush. Little by little the lower chamber was filled; the gate opened wide, the boat entered, and the outer gate closed. He then set the pump to work to empty the lower chamber; he saw the surface of the water fall and fall with its heavy load, till not a drop was left, and the Titania gently touched the sandy bed at the bottom. With a hand trembling with impatience, René opened the door, and ran to the boat, scaled its side, rushed to the companion ladder, with hands outstretched, to grasp those of the doctor and Kermadec, — and fell into the arms of his mother.

What exclamations, what tears of joy, what handshakings, what questions—unanswered—what happiness all round. Madame Caoudal’s eyes were full of tears, as again and again she embraced her son. In a torrent of incoherent words, she told him over and over again that she had thought never to see him again, that the cruel sea had bereft her of him! She scolded him for his temerity, praised him for his courage; heaped upon him all the pet names of his childhood, long forgotten, but suddenly recalled under the influence of powerful emotion.

“Aunt Alice,” said Hélène, trying to get a word in edgewise, “when you have quite finished with René, we should like to say a word to him.”

“Ah! you must thank her,” said Madame Caoudal, disengaging herself from his arms; “it is her doing. I should never have come but for her.” She stopped short in the middle of what she was saying, her eyes

Atlantis had come to the door.

dilated as if struck with a super-human vision. Kermadec was standing with his face to the door, cap in hand, bowing low and smiling. The others turned round, and an exclamation of surprise and admiration involuntarily escaped them all. Atlantis had come to the door. Attracted by the sound of their lively greetings, she came towards them, but at the threshold of the entrance she paused in astonishment, as if nailed to the floor. What she saw was so new to her, so unexpected! It was not the chorus of voices, or the number of people, a sight in itself strange enough to the young recluse, which struck her dumb. In this group, which to her eyes seemed quite a crowd, it was not Patrice or Kermadec, or even René himself, who first attracted and riveted her attention; what fascinated her was Hélène, with her gray travelling costume, her gloves, her dark beauty, and the contour of a modern woman. But when she caught sight of Madame Caoudal, she was deeply moved. A mother! What beautiful poems had spoken of motherly love to the poor motherless girl! Charicles, in noble and elevating words, had often touched on the subject. He had not concealed from Atlantis that, in taking her mother from her so early, the gods had treated her very harshly. Actuated, however, by prudence and reserve, he had never dwelt long on the subject. Till now, she was ignorant of how much she had been bereft. Here was a revelation to her. She understood now, what René had felt, how sad her solitude had been. She understood why her young head hung sometimes, vaguely troubled by childish thoughts, to which she could not give expression for fear of encountering Charicles’s displeasure, so great was his dislike to any demonstration of tenderness. Ah! it was not to him that she naturally turned for encouragement at such times, but to her mother; whose paleface had been hidden from her sight years ago, buried in a grotto in the garden.

Bending eagerly forward, supporting herself with one hand on the lintel of the door, and stilling the beating of her heart with the other, she listened to the torrent of words with ‘which Madame Caoudal poured forth her motherly joy; she felt ready to fall on her knees with reverential respect, not in the least aware that she was the object of general admiration. In the unstudied elegance of her attire, whose graceful folds Phidias would have loved to reproduce in marble, in her pure cameo-like beauty, she looked more than mortal. At the same time one could trace in her pure features a look of naïve envy; they betrayed her distress so ingenuously, her longing to share in the banquet of family happiness spread before her, that they all felt touched.

Helens was the most prompt in divining her feelings, and acting upon her kindly impulse. With a grace different, but not inferior to that of the Greek girl, she went towards her with a quick step and took her by the hand:

“ Atlantis,” said she, “ I know you. René has told me so much about you. I have loved you for a long time.”

Two tears, like dew on violets, moistened Atlantis’s long eyelashes.

“And I,” said she, “know and love you, Hélène.”

Then, in a voice in which respect and shy tenderness were mingled, “ Is that his mother?” Her voice and looks plainly said: “Would that she, too, could love me!”

René could not, durst not, say a word. He waited, his heart oppressed between fear and hope, knowing the goodness of his mother’s heart, but fully aware of her prejudices; overpowered with happiness at the sudden turn events had taken, but, nevertheless, fearful lest some hitch, some unexpected event, might spoil everything. He had not reckoned in vain on the generous impulse of his mother’s heart. She, also, had cast a sympathetic look at the young Greek girl, and, under the striking beauty of her appearance, had seen the lonely heart of the child who needed support, who thirsted for affection. She held out her arms to her.

“My child,” she said, “ come and kiss me.”

With a stifled cry the young girl ran to her, and sinking on her knees, she took her hand and kissed it; but Madame Caoudal, raising her, folded her tenderly in her arms, and they mingled tears, whose mysterious source they could not have explained. Hélène and Patrice exchanged a quick look of sympathy. They were fast becoming accomplices; something told them that one of the knots in their own destiny was soon to be cut.

But, after all this intense excitement, a sort of embarrassment came over them all. Doctor Patrice, by way of a relaxation of the tension, asked to be introduced to Mademoiselle Atlantis, and begged to be conducted without loss of time to his patient.

In vain Atlantis, desiring to fulfil the duties of hospitality, suggested that he should first take a little rest. He declared that he had come expressly to see her father, to treat him to the best of his ability, and not to take his own ease. And, as she was really as anxious as he in the matter, she led the way to Charicles’s bedside, after having given orders to Kermadec to conduct the ladies to a room where they could rest, and to serve them with refreshments. Madame Caoudal signed to her son to follow the doctor, and with a look of acquiescence he obeyed her.

“You understand,” explained Madame Caoudal, — to whom it occurred that she had lost no time in making herself at home,— “you understand, my child, that, though it is not proper for us to intrude in the invalid’s house before the doctor allows it, on the other hand, propriety demands that René—”

“Oh! Aunt Alice, propriety! “ cried Hélène, with a light laugh. “It seems to me we have acted very cavalierly by coming to this house at all uninvited.”

“Ah, yes! that is true enough,” exclaimed Madame Caoudal, much concerned at the discovery. “Do you think that Mademoiselle Atlantis will think our coming an impertinent intrusion?”

“She?” said Hélène, quickly. “ Is it possible that any paltry thought could find a place in that goddess-like head? Can’t you see that she has only one wish with regard to us, and that is to offer everything her house contains with all her heart. She is altogether charming, auntie, and I love her! “

”Hélène, you go too fast,” said Madame Caoudal, with an endeavour to appear stiff.

“Bah I you love her already yourself, Aunt Alice. We all do. How can one help it, Kermadec?” added she, addressing the youth as he placed before them a table covered with fruit, looking as if it had just been collected from a fairy’s garden.

Surely, Mademoiselle Hélène,” replied Kermadec, suddenly drawing himself up in the regulation position of a seaman speaking to his superiors.

“Confess, Kermadec, that she has supplanted me in your affections.”

“For that matter, no, mademoiselle. With your leave, no one can come before the mother and sister of my officer. But, apart from that, there is no denying that the young lady of the sea is decidedly pleasing.”

“Hélène!” said Madame Caoudal, as soon as Kermadec had withdrawn, “how can you speak so familiarly to that sailor?”

“Oh, Aunt Alice! he is not a mere sailor, he is a friend. And then I am so happy. I am so glad we came. See how splendid, and how brilliant, and peaceful, too, everything is. It is the kingdom of beauty, it is Arcadia, an ideal country! There is nothing wicked or ugly; no social rank, no masters and servants. We are shipwrecked on an isolated rock; all Philistine shams have disappeared, and the sole superiority here is that of goodness.”

“What do you say, my child?” said Madame Caoudal, startled, and uneasy.

“Oh! you know very well, dear auntie, but I will speak without reserve! More fortunate than Atlantis, I have a mother; a real mother. I have never had to lock up a secret within me or keep any weight on my spirits for want of some one to share them with. However insignificant my joys and griefs were, I could venture to tell them to you, and find an interested listener. It never occurred to me till now how much I owe to you. I understand now the look in that motherless girl’s face when she saw you. Poor child! With all her stately beauty she is worse off than the little gipsy children, who are cuffed and knocked about from morning till night, but at least cared for and kissed by their mothers. Does n’t it seem to you that we, who have had loving attention heaped upon us all our lives, have a duty to discharge to her; to comfort, console, and love her, and to make up to her for the happiness she had a right to, but has been deprived of?”

“Can you doubt, my child?” said Madame Caoudal, in a softened tone, but inwardly embarrassed. “Do you fear for a moment that I should be unwilling to concur in your outburst of generous feeling. It is all very surprising, very strange, very precipitate; but, at least, you saw me embrace the young girl.”

“Oh, yes, you were, as usual, spontaneously kind and considerate. But, can’t I see as well as if you told me that your better judgment reproaches you for showing so much _ cordiality? Come, listen to your own kind heart, which is really in the right. Do not let them have to entreat, to wring from you, your consent; place in René’s hand the hand of his fiancée—”

“Hélène, my child, what are you saying?” cried Madame Caoudal, completely overcome. “Do you know that that would be to destroy my dearest hopes? And you, you, my chosen daughter— ” And tears filled her eyes.